The Slum Children by Nikhil Parekh


Slum Children
We might be poor; but our hearts are undoubtedly
richer than the rest,
We might be squalidly attired; but the blood flowing
through our veins is purer than the most crystalline
of stream,
We might be wandering on foot; but our speed is more
than the swankiest of cars,
We might brush our teeth with raw bamboo sticks; but
our jaws can easily squelch the toughest of steel,
We might smell of perspiration under the sun; but
our
bodies are endowed with a heavenly odor,
We might sleep under the open sky; but generate more
warmth than the contemporary room heater,
We might not posses grandiloquent pens; but can
evolve
mystical designs with our bohemian fingers,
We might eat with spoons and forks; but enjoy each
edible meal to our hearts content,
We might not bathe under mineral water; but relish
our
swim in the exotic rivers,
We might not possess sunglasses of exquisite quality
tint; but have the tenacity to stare the sun right
in
its eyes,
We might not have luxurious school bags to stash our
books; but cherish the privilege of carrying them in
our hands,
We might not speak in bombastic slang; but have the
power to perceive beyond the great sea’s,
We might not have a flurry of servants to wipe our
tears; but have enormous fortitude to hold them
back,
We might never have flown in an aircraft; but have
soared higher than anybody else in the clouds; in
our
dreams,
We might not be able to apply jam on our breads; but
are happy to eat it with the soil of our motherland
coated on its surface,
We might not resemble a Hollywood star; but the
radiance we emanate is more stringent than the day,
We might not have millions of dollars incarcerated
in
the bank; but have indeed the blessing of God; the
love of our mother to resurrect our broken lives,
We might not use perfumed shampoo; but still our
hair
shine marvelously under the moon,
We might not have golden roads to traverse on all
day;
but still come out resurgent; alive from the blazing
fires,
We might be adorned in shabby rags; but our
barren
skin doesn’t mind being penetrated by the most
acerbic
of thorns,
We might have pangs of hunger reverberating in our
stomach; but are capable of facing the entire army
single handed,
And people might christen us as ‘SLUM CHILDREN’
glaring us each minute with contemptuous stares; but
we consider our huts as the most colossal of palace;
with each granule of mud impregnated in its walls
giving us a scent of our perseverance; the essence
of
our motherland…
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.

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